capture me as beautiful
by merlyns
Summary: KurtSam. Sam is an artist and Kurt is his muse.


capture me as beautiful

( Sam traces every curve of Kurt's body, every blemish, every scar Kurt didn't even know existed, his lips leaving kisses where his fingers once were in their wake. | Or, Sam is an artist and Kurt is his muse. )

* * *

><p>Sam Evans has many talents, varying from being able to juggle six tennis balls at once to singing his heart out in front of hundreds of people, each person more judgemental than the previous one. Some of his talents he simply grows out of, some of them are deemed uncool and Sam, always wanting to be cool, discards them from his life, or otherwise loses passion for them altogether.<p>

He moves in with Kurt and Finn a few months after his family relocates to Kentucky, and at first things are awkward, naturally, and Kurt keeps tossing him glances Sam knows he wouldn't around the rest, especially Blaine. But he doesn't say much, just smiles into his cereal.

They start talking; at first it's small talk as they try to familiarize themselves with one another again, and soon Kurt's coming into his bedroom after midnight with warm glasses of milk and his problems.

Sam likes Kurt- he likes Kurt a lot, so he listens and he compliments him on his awesome warm milk making skills, and pats his shoulder awkward when he starts getting choked up over his breakup with Blaine, even though on the inside he feels like a whole new world opened up around them.

Kurt starts coming in more and more, sneaking out with less clothing on each time. They spend their short-lived moments alone together with their legs tangled, panting and breathing heavily against each other's skin, and Sam traces every curve of Kurt's body, every blemish, every scar Kurt didn't even know existed, his lips leaving kisses where his fingers once were in their wake as Kurt squirms beneath him.

When they start spending their nights together is when Sam picks up his sketch-pad, a thin layer of dust on the top, and opens it to a blank page, drawing the contours of Kurt's face and hair and sleeping positions he does as he rests.

His inspiration grows each passing day, and it's booming by the time Kurt finally breathes_i love you_against his skin.

He draws pictures of him at least three times a day, random images popping in his mind throughout the school day: Kurt singing. Kurt eating. Kurt thinking. Kurt in his boxers. Kurt in Sam's Letterman jacket and nothing else. _Kurt in nothing at all_.

Sam blushes at the thought, of Kurt writhing and panting beneath him, of his talented mouth wrapping around Sam's-

He finishes drawing that picture but rips it out, hiding it deep in his nightstand drawer and decides drawing something more wholesome.

He draws a picture of Kurt with a flower in his hair, a light blush on his cheeks, then flips through his sketch-pad, all the pages full of Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, and more Kurt.

He gives him inspiration Sam never thought he would get back, and it takes him a moment to realize: he never truly had any without him.

.

.

It's a few weeks after Sam starts drawing like crazy when Kurt finds his sketch-pad.

He's home with the flu and bored in his own bedroom, so he pads across the hallway into the guest room, Sam's room, and he probably would be smelling Sam's cologne if he could smell at all.

Groggily, he collapses onto Sam's bed headfirst, his face meeting a hard, leathery-ish surface instead of Sam's soft pillow.

Kurt's face immediately springs up and he lets out a disgruntled sigh, moving to throw the offending object on the floor and return his face to its rightful place against the left side of Sam's pillow.

But he's seen this object before; it's the same book Sam's always got his face buried in and dutifully hides whatever is in there from Kurt's sight.

Kurt smirks, forgetting all about his nap as he picks up the book, flipping through the pages. His face flushes madly at some, smiles at others, before he sets it down and runs, as much as he can with aching legs, down to Carole's arts and crafts room, knowing she has a spare sketch-pad somewhere.

Sam has a beautiful body that deserves to be sketched just as much, and who better to sketch it than the man who knows it best?

.

.

But of course it's not that easy.

Kurt pays attention to every single thing Sam does, waiting for the perfect opportunity to draw. Moments he deems a good sketch look so good in his mind, but show up terribly on his sketch-pad, and Kurt can feel himself losing patience each passing day.

Sam makes it seem so effortless, so easy, and Kurt can barely draw legs without making them look like smudged blobs.

He tries to go for simple things when they're watching a movie: like drawing Sam's face, but his nose always looks too big and his ears are too small, and it's all _wrong_.

Kurt growls in frustration, throwing the sketch-pad across the room, just missing Sam's cheek, and it hits the leather love seat with a dull thump. Sam jumps, his eyes widening, and he reaches to pause the movie, hesitantly turning to face Kurt.

"Are you okay?" He asks, slightly amused but mostly afraid Kurt might stab him with the pencil he currently has a death-grip on.

Kurt's eye twitches. "No."

Sam smirks, glancing back at the love seat. "Was that a sketch-pad?"

"It doesn't matter," Kurt dismisses dryly, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Sam chuckles a little, walking over to the love seat to retrieve the sketch-pad, ignoring Kurt's whines of protest. He hands it back to Kurt, who snatches it grudgingly, rolling his eyes.

"I threw it for a reason," Kurt snaps, tossing it on the empty couch cushion to the left of him.

Sam stares at him expectantly. "Show me what you drew."

Kurt laughs humorlessly. "Funny joke, Samuel."

"I'm serious," Sam grins. "Is it bad?"

"Terrible," Kurt sighs heavily, opening the sketch-pad. He flips through the pages, each picture progressively worse than the previous one and he sees Sam trying not to laugh. He shoves him on the shoulder, tossing the book on the coffee table. "Jerk off. You are supposed to _console_your boyfriend, not make fun of him."

"I-I'm not." Sam sputters and Kurt's eyes narrow into slits. Sam lets out a howl of laughter then, kissing his boyfriend's cheek before Kurt can slap him. "I think it's _cute_," Sam coos.

Kurt crosses his arms, sighing. "I wanted to impress you. I saw...I saw what you drew," he stammers, blushing. "I wanted to do the same for you."

Sam's cheeks pink but he smiles, grasping Kurt's hand. "I-this whole thing literally came out of nowhere. You just inspire me, Kurt," Sam confesses, rubbing his thumb along Kurt's knuckles. "But I don't expect anything in return, and just because you can't draw a realistic portrait of me doesn't make you any less talented than you already are."

Kurt smiles, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess you're right. Usually I don't go into another art without practising first but you-" Sam kisses him softly, quickly, and Kurt sighs into his mouth, "you're crazy, Sam Evans."

Sam grins. "Does that mean you like the drawings?" He rubs the thin material of Kurt's sweatpants, his fingers dangerously close to the slight tent in Kurt's pants.

Kurt smiles, his eyes flashing. "Absolutely," he murmurs, pulling Sam down for a kiss. "You want to know what else I like?"

Sam chuckles, undoing the knot in the front of Kurt's sweatpants. "I can think of a few things."

.

.

Hours later, after heated kisses and touching and Kurt showing Sam how truly talented he is, Sam turns on the light to the dimmest setting and grabs his sketch-pad, intending to draw Kurt's sleeping form as always.

Kurt rolls his eyes at him playfully before turning away from him, and will probably never understand why Sam finds him so fascinating, or his body for that matter, because there are plenty of things Kurt would like to change.

But when Sam crawls into bed an hour or two later, wrapping his arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder, Kurt's body fitting perfectly against Sam's, he decides he wouldn't want it any other way.


End file.
